How I work

I don't really know how other people's lives work but my shit life, that's another story.
There are four stages of life for me. The "sitting and waiting", the "doing shit i love for free", the "working" and last but not least the "everything goes south, crushing and burning". There are glimmers of hope when one more stage comes up and that is the "doing sports". This particular stage of life is temporary and most often seasonal but it cheers me up none the less.
Please observe that I do not have the "laying back and relaxing" stage because I always have a stick up my ass. And not in a good way.
Now I'll talk about each and every one cause I'm bored and I want to bore the crap out of you people as well:

-The sitting and waiting stage looks a lot like today. I sit at my computer, I look up shit to post on a Facebook page and wait for the divine to come down from the sky, lay his pervy hands on me and make me into a rock star. Or at least an assistant manager, we really can't afford to be picky here.

- The doing shit I love for free stage is when I'm drawing for the sheer pleasure of drawing, volunteering or watching a movie. Since I've never encountered someone who is payed to watch movies (rather than watch movies and write about them later) I am going to take the time and space on paper to express my anger towards the fact that no one is paying me for drawing (cause I'm stubborn and I don't want to learn computer graphics because I thing is impersonal and cold and lifeless) or for my volunteering, which by definition it's work without payment, except the moral and satisfactory kind. This stage has weed-like effects since while I'm working i feel free and happy and at the end I want to throw up cause I'm still broke and one day short on my way to immortality.

-The working stage is made of moral satisfaction as well since the money that I do earn can be up to, and including buttons or pumpkin seeds. Since I work at a kindergarten the kids saying "I love you" sometimes is just payment enough.

- I say sometimes because the  everything goes south, crushing and burning  stage is the most cruel and one can only sit back and watch things fall apart. This particular stage of life is that time of year when nothing works, everything brakes down, your bills come to pass, the car insurance expires, you have no more gas, the internet needs to be payed and even God puts on a pair of headphones and acts like a child, turning his back and humming, instead of listening. Of course I don't believe in God so all that shit comes poring down on me because I'm the only one who has the power to make thing better and that kinda overwhelms me.

- The periodical doing sports stage is active mostly in the winter and summer when I can go to the skating rink or the pool, depends on the weather conditions. Also the crushing and burning stage reappears because i don't quite have the material means to go to the skating rink and the swimming pool.

Life is funny, ain't it?

Hai sa NU mai scriem pe pereti

Gata, m-am saturat, asa ca ma adresez asa zisilor microbisti bucuresteni si vreau din start sa imi cer scuze pentru vocabularul vulgar si neacademic:
Ce dracu scrieti pe toti peretii sa plece ala sau celalalt din conducerea echipelor de fotbal. Eu inteleg ca n-aveti destule scoala sa faceti o petitie sau sa-i invadati p-aia cu scrisori (lucru care ar fi mult mai eficient decat scriul cu vopsea pe peretii metroului) da' ia tineti-va spary-urile cu vopsea acasa natarailor si nu mai vandalizati orasul. Inteleg grafitti-ul ...i'm all for that, e arta urba si unele lucrari sunt mai bune decat lucrarile din expozitii de arta dar un scris de-o schioapa cu o caligrafie de cacat NU E GRAFITTI.
Pai ce mama dracu! Eu stau la Stefan cel Mare si e dinamo la o aruncatura de bat. Au vopsit aia peretii (desi nu sunt de acord cu metoda lor pt ca era un mozaic din faianta tucoise pe pereti si-au spoit cu galben peste dar totusi hai sa le recunoastem eforturile) au pus temopane (ca aparent asta e cuvantul de odine in bucuresti la ora actuala) si supranumitii microbisti au scris peste vopsea "pleaca...."(cineva ca nu ma uit la fotbal si nici nu stiu cine da rateuri prin conducerea echipei) arata ca un cur si nici nu da cine stie ce roade asa numitul protest pentru ca ala cine o fi el, dupa ce-si face treaba se urca in tuaregul, sau land rover-ul sau q7-le lui si conduce pana acasa, in niciun caz nu ia metroul asa ca spuneti-mi voi mie ce rost are sa mazgalesti peretii?
Eu inteleg ca ati vazut Green Street Hooligans, ca a devenit biblia voastra si ca aspirati toti sa fiti Charlie Hunnam da' mai suflati dracului bulele alea si afara din ochiu' public. Eu una fac eforturi supraomenesti sa n-aud stirile "din sport" care ar putea la fel de bine sa se cheme "stirile din fotbal" ca nicio redactie de stiri care se respecta nu mai recunoaste alte sporturi in afara de fotbal.

Dreams

Dreams, we all have them, big or small about things we want to do, places we want to go.I was never one to settle for mediocrity, I was never one to dream of being a corporatist twat, with lost of money and a high end apartment in the fanciest area of the city I'm living in because that's just not me. But one dream still lingers, ever since I can remember and that dream is New York.
In Arizona Dream, Johnny Depp says about New York that is "the only place in the world with real magnetic pull" and I tend to believe him but I don't want the glamorous life New York has to offer, I don't want the clubs and the Cosmopolitans, the money and the fame. I want the struggle, the art, the theaters and the museums. I want to fall in love with Broadway, I want to see Cats and Guys and Dolls and Sweeney Todd (if that's still a show on Broadway). I want to go to the Met and the Guggenheim Museum and post myself in front of a painting and stare at it for hours at a time until they kick me out at closing.
I want to go to Central Park and sit on the Alice in Wonderland statue, I want to go to Washington Square Park and loose myself in a book, on a bench in the sun. I want to go to the CBGB's and see the history of music unravel in front of me, to enter a music store, where they have old vinyl records and where the salesman knows every little detail about every band that ever was.
I want to live in Queens or Brooklyn in the world's smallest apartment where I'd have just a bed and an easel and ride the train to Manhattan.
I want to be afraid of starting this adventure but brave enough to do it in spite of that.

No questions, no autographs

I hate falling of the grit. And the reason why I hate falling of the grit is because I hate getting back on the motherfucking grit. And with all this social fucking media someone in your pathetic little past is bound to find you at some point.
Every time you'll meet someone from your past, especially class mates the bitch mode comes on disguised as nice. "Oh how sweet. You didn't change at all since high school. Diet didn't agree with you, did it? Well It's better to be healthy than skinny, i guess."
And every fucking time you meet someone from your past the same two fucking questions pop up like someone gave out a standard questionnaire that somehow never reached you. So you'll be taken by fucking surprise every motherfucking time. At one point you'll be trying to match the little bitch question for question but they'll always know how to fucking answer.
First fucking question and annoying and fuck is "How you've been doing? Are you working?"
The immediate fucking reaction is to punch that goddamn bitch in the face, drive over her a couple of times and spit on her cooling corpse. But see how murder is punishable by jail and a lot of it you  will try to keep your cool and answer as calmly as you can that you do have a shit job in this shit economy and you're looking for something better.
Of course the slut from your past will be having the perfect job and working there since for ever. WELL FUCK YOU!
This particular question is made so that will demonstrate how much of a fucking looser you are and has the same intended effect as "My daddy can beat up your daddy." on the motherfucking playground.
The second question, even more annoying than the first one is: " Are you married? Have any kids yet?"
To which, If you think fast enough, can have the upper hand and respond with "Bitch, my face is as smooth as a baby's bottom. Is this the skin of a mommy?" or with " I'm not going to get married before I've seen the world." which will indicate you have bigger plans tan staying at home, cooking for your alcoholic, teenage husband and breast feeding your accidental fucking brat.
Now that I've calmed down in writing, I'm thinking of deleting every person from my past and changing my screen name to one of a superhero, like Nighthawk cause I will fucking eat your heart out while is still beating you motherfucking, question asking, Jeopardy bitch host!

The Age of Innocence

God I hate kids, I do! No because what they do when you don't see them of the street all pink and cute and wide eyed, which is poop and cry and kick and drain the life force out of you.
I hate them because they're small, and innocent and have no idea what's coming to them.
Now everything it's an accomplishment. Talking is an accomplishment, walking get them sweets, smiling makes their parents proud, but soon they'll grow up and disappoint their parents no matter what they'll do,
no matter how accomplished they'll be; their parents will never be completely satisfied with them and they'll push them harder and harder until they'll finally break.
And when that happens it's going to be just another disappointment for their parent.